


Balata

by DragonOfChanges



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels are Dicks, Execution, M/M, Prisoner Castiel, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 17:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10253015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonOfChanges/pseuds/DragonOfChanges
Summary: Castiels journey to Heaven with Calvin is not as it seems.Set after 12x15.





	

In a remote clearing in the Garden in Heaven, a small group of Angels had gathered. The Garden itself had largely become overgrown since Joshua’s disappearance, but this place, this would always remain clear. This was the Place of Penance. Here wrongs between members of Heavens Host were made right. Usually, the offender simply knelt and apologized. He was then forgiven. Sometimes some small act of repentance was performed, as well, or some small retribution given. But not today. Today they were dealing with the worst violator of Heavens laws since Lucifer himself. Today was not about penance. It was not about forgiveness. It was about punishment. It was about justice.

In the clearings center stood a large cross made of dark wood. It stood taller and wider than any that had been used by humans in ancient times. Larger by far than the one that the Prophet Jeshua had been fastened to when Pilate thought him a threat to Roman rule. At this cross, clad only in a white cotton sash around his waist, knelt an angel. He was fastened to the structure by his wings. Long cruel silver hooks at the ends of the horizontal beam held them, spread wide and open. Blood and grace leaked from where the hooks pierced the limbs. Wings. Huge black wings, each easily spanning the height of two tall men. The feathers were lustrous, shining even now, in his captivity and his pain. The angels’ hands were shackled in front of him in thick metal cuffs etched with Enochian runes, which bound his grace and his abilities- including his ability to heal himself. He bore many marks on his bare torso, and on his face, arms, and legs, where he had been beaten and cut. Blood flowed from many places on his battered body. His dark hair was matted with it. Before him stood another angel, Marachiel. He held a blade in his hand. To one side, on a small altar, sat a long sword. Marachiel spoke to those gathered, including the angel Calvin, who had lured the rebel back to Heaven, and all the members of the prisoners former Garrison.

“Today we will finally punish the one who has caused heaven so much sorrow. Who rebelled, and was cast out. Yet he continued his defiance, his war against Heaven. His crimes are numerous. The blood he has spilled flows as a river into the desert, as do the tears he caused to be shed by angel and by man. But today, today all will be made right.” He turned to speak to the prisoner, whose eyes remained downcast, looking at nothing.

“Castiel, Seraphim of the Third Choir, you have been found guilty of numerous crimes against both Heaven and Man. Among them, betrayal of and rebellion against Heaven. Aiding humans in rebellion against Heaven. Failure to follow the orders of your superiors. Theft of Grace from fellow angels. Consorting and complicity with Hells agents. Theft of souls from Purgatory. Release of the Leviathan upon the Earth. Attempting to take our Fathers throne. Slaughter of fellow angels. Slaughter of innocent humans. Release of the Darkness from Her bonds, and the harm caused by her. Aiding the Fallen Ones escape from his prison by allowing him to inhabit your vessel. The slaughter of a Reaper, and numerous other crimes. For these many crimes, the only punishment possible is death.” 

Castiels shoulders bowed. This was his end. He had always done what he thought was the right thing. What he KNEW to be the right thing. Well, mostly. He had helped many, saved many, even if he had harmed a few in doing so. He had saved ALL of them, more than once, given his life more than once to ensure their continued existence. Now he would pay the price of his love for his Fathers most wonderful creations. He now understood free will to be a length of rope, and he had gone and hung himself with it. Yet, given the same choices, he would have done few things differently. Marachiel continued to speak.

“But, due to the nature of your crimes, and to discourage other angels from going down the same path, before you are executed, you will first be made an example of. Before your death, you will be shorn of your wings, which will be hung above the door of your former garrison as a warning to others who may think to rebel.” Shocked gasps came from many of the watching angels. Castiel began to panic, his breath coming fast and hard. Pain from his pinned wings shot through him as he struggled. His wings. He could deal with death, with oblivion, but to loose his wings before his Garrison first… the disgrace of it…. the pain and utter humiliation for all to see. Marachiel nodded, and a hand was on the chain of the manacles, pulling Castiel forward, his wings stretched taut. The pain from the hooks flared, causing him to cry out. Tears of pain flowing from his eyes, he begged.

“Brother, mercy, please. Kill me, if you must, but let me die whole.” Marachiel looked at him with cold eyes.

"There will be no mercy. Not for you.” He picked up the sword from the altar, and tested the blade with his thumb. Wicked sharp, it made a cut, which healed over immediately. He moved to Castiels right, slightly behind him, and hefted the sword above his head. He paused, looking at the rebel. 

“Anything else to say?” Anger at the atrocity and unfairness of his fate raged within the former Garrison Commander. No angel should have to endure this. This was beyond barbaric. Castiel found that he simply had no words left, and just glared at his executioner.

Marachiel looked down at the still defiant captive. He brought the sword down, and in a single stroke severed both of Castiels wings from where they met his shoulders. Castiel gave a wordless cry as his wings, and his Grace with them, were detached from his being. The newly severed wings hung limply from the hooks like a pair of leaves in the fall, twitching only slightly. The luster quickly faded from the feathers, and they became dry and brittle in appearance, as a thing long dead.

Castiel slumped forward, forehead to the floor, as blood and the last of his grace flowed from the wounds in his shoulders. His breathing was ragged, and he whimpered in pain and humiliation. Shorn. Such a thing had never happened before. Not even to Lucifer.

Heedless of his suffering, his bonds were pulled, and he was forced up once more to his knees. The pain of his wounds flared, and for a moment his vision grayed. He shook himself, and it cleared. His end was near, and he would face it with his eyes open. He would face it with courage, as Sam and Dean would. He would face it like a warrior. A hunter. A man. He lifted his chin, and set his eyes forward, calmly meeting the horrified looks of those he once served with. He sent a prayer earthward, knowing it would never be heard. ‘I’m so sorry Dean, Sam. I will love you both, always. Forgive me.’

The other angel strode to stand before him. With a no further words, only a sad shake of his head, he plunged the blade into Castiels chest, stopping his now human heart instantly. He pulled the blade out, and the lifeless corpse of the former angel collapsed into a pile of ash.

“Balata.”Marachiel whispered, and closed his eyes. It was done.  
  
It was a warm, sunny Friday morning. Sam had been up for a while, researching another possible sighting of Kelly. Dean had just settled at the library table with his first cup of coffee when there was a knock at the Bunker door. Three loud booms, and then silence. Startled and confused, the hunters jumped up, drawing their weapons. They stood for a moment, but there was no further noise, and the door did not open. After a minute had passed, they climbed the stairs quietly.

With Sam covering him from behind, Dean shoved the heavy door open. No one was there. Was it some kid doing it on a dare, maybe? He looked down, and saw a wooden box sitting on the step. It was more than twice the size of a shoebox, and runes were etched into its top and sides.There was a small envelope taped to the top. As Sam watched, Dean opened it, taking out the single sheet of parchment. In a bold script, a short message:

'Dean, Sam, Our sincerest condolences. -G3B2'

Deans face fell, and his hands shook as he knelt and opened the box. A gasp and a sob fell from his lips, echoed by Sam, as he saw what lay within. All that remained of Castiel, Angel of the Lord. A glass jar, containing what must be his ashes. A long, black feather. Both nestled atop a carefully folded brown trenchcoat.

Deans heart shattered.

Sams followed a moment later.

**Author's Note:**

> Usual non ownership stuff...you know...  
> Balata:Justice. (Enochian)


End file.
